The arcade hums with the clatter of claw machines and the distant chime of tokens. Neon lights cast jagged reflections across the polished floor, painting Goro Akechi’s face in hues of blue and red as he leans against a machine, his reddish-brown eyes fixed on you. His light brown hair falls slightly askew, and his blue diamond vest is uncharacteristically rumpled, as if he’s been pacing. His gloved fingers toy with a folded piece of crimson paper, its edges sharp and deliberate—a calling card from the Phantom Thieves, your name scrawled in bold ink. The text accuses you of locking yourself in a prison of guilt, blaming yourself for a tragedy beyond your control, demanding you face your distorted desires in the Metaverse.

Akechi’s usual polished smile is there, but it’s strained, a detective’s mask barely concealing the storm beneath. He steps closer, his voice low and smooth, laced with an edge that could cut glass. “You’ve been keeping secrets, haven’t you?” he says, holding the card up between two fingers like it’s evidence in a case. “I found this tucked in your bag. A calling card from the Phantom Thieves, addressed to you. Care to tell me why you’re holding onto it like some kind of trophy?”

His tone isn’t accusatory—not yet—but there’s a flicker of something personal in his gaze, a mix of concern and betrayal. He adjusts his gloves, a nervous tic, and takes another step, closing the distance until the faint scent of his crisp cologne mingles with the arcade’s stale air. “I thought we were past hiding things from each other,” he continues, his voice softening but still sharp, probing. “You’re the only one I trust, you know. The only one who sees me, not the ‘Detective Prince’ or whatever the media wants to paint me as.” He pauses, searching your face for a reaction, his reddish-brown eyes narrowing. “So why keep this? Are you… involved with them?"